


Hopeful Halloween

by foxysox92



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-08
Updated: 2017-10-08
Packaged: 2019-01-10 13:17:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,224
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12299910
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/foxysox92/pseuds/foxysox92
Summary: A collection of Halloween snapshots spanning 17 years.





	Hopeful Halloween

**Author's Note:**

> All canon character, plots, and situations from the Harry Potter series belong to JK Rowling. I am not profiting from this work.
> 
> Thank you to my beta (and mentor) for their time and work on this story

###  **Halloween 1980:**

Their first Halloween as a family of three found James, Lily, and Harry snuggled together in the master bedroom of Godric’s Hollow. Infant Harry, milk-drunk and satisfied, snuggled against his mother’s bosom contentedly. She sighed and sunk into James’ side with a smirk.

“You made a very cute baby, James,” she beamed. Harry’s lips twitched in his happy-baby slumber: smile, frown, smile, furrow.

James admired his son and smirked in reply, “Aw, I do think he’s quite the charmer already. I only hope he doesn’t make as many daft and ridiculous decisions as I did. Maybe he will have his mother’s brains…” he flirted, as he kissed his wife’s forehead. 

They carried on in this manner, flirting and making cheesy, light-hearted banter for some time. There was an art in joking away the fear and seriousness of their situation.

As Lily held her sleeping child, she knew that there was a chance that she would not live to see many of the boy’s decisions. She had considered the opposite as well; that she may have to bury her son and live her life without him. The thought was painful and she quickly realized that a world without Harry was no world for her at all. No, if the Dark Lord came for her son... Her face grew serious as she stared vacantly into the space just beyond the foot of the bed. James must have felt the shift in her mood, and while she knew he wrestled with the heaviness of rumors and threats, she also knew he felt confident in his ability to protect his family.

After Harry was born, she felt a new heaviness shadow her mind. It was more than the usual burden of motherhood— the endless feeding, sleeping, and waking cycles that any infant takes their parents through. Being in hiding meant that James was home taking care of Harry as much as she was. No, this was deeper. This was intense vulnerability. It was as if no matter how much she did, she felt incapable of protecting the life she’d just brought into the world.

She felt James’ fingertips brush against her chin, drawing her face to his and capturing her lips with his for a brief, yet emotion-filled kiss. When they pulled away from each other Lily’s eyes were brimming with tears, “I try not to worry, James, really. I know there’s no point in it. Whatever will be will be, I’m prepared to face anything for you and for Harry, but sometimes I feel this ache…”

He pressed a single finger to her worried lips to silence her concern, “We are together now. That is what matters. Our friends are out there protecting us, protecting Harry… We have here and now. Let’s live here. Now.”

Lily felt her heart swell with pride, love, joy, and apprehension. She knew he was right, but her mind kept racing forward.

“Let me put him down…” she rose from the bed and deposited Harry in his cot. He let out a deep sigh and covered his eyes with his arm. Her face softened, “Sweet dreams, love.”

She slipped back into the bed where she embraced James fiercely. She kissed and caressed him attentively, thankful as ever for the here and now. She hoped for many more “here and now”s.

###  **Halloween 1981:**

Remus sat alone in the dark room. Though two weeks had already passed since the last full moon, the beast within him howled in despair.  Word had just reached him of James and Lily’s murder. The pain he felt overshadowed everything; he couldn’t even feel relief, much less joy, that Voldemort had been defeated. In this moment, he found it hard to believe he would ever feel joyful about anything again. Death, discrimination, destruction… they closed in on all sides. He felt cold. 

He had been kept neatly out of the loop, and sent away on Order business lately, no doubt due to his condition. Another wave of self-pity and rage washed over him and he doubled over, hugging his knees. He could not blame them for keeping him in the dark. Often he wondered if he would ever manage to prove himself worthy of trust to anyone. He thought had already proven his trustworthiness to his mates while in Hogwarts, but it seemed that influences and opinions of others outside Hogwarts’ walls were much more convincing when it came to planting seeds of doubt in the minds of his friends.

His friends. Friends? How would he survive this? He felt the darkness of doubt bleeding into his brain. _Were they ever really your friends, Moony? Lately they’ve had less time for you, less contact—they probably realized that in order to truly keep Harry safe, you’d need to be as far away as possible. Who would want a were-Harry, after all?_

 _Where is Harry now? How did he survive? How did James and Lily_ _not_ _survive? Will they ever tell you, Moony? Can you really be trusted with Harry’s whereabouts?_  

He felt bile rising and burning his throat. He choked out a sob and rolled to the ground. Curled up and broken, he lay doubting every moment he shared with them. All of them: James, Lily, Sirius, and Peter. Where were Sirius and Peter? Did they know? He trembled at the thought of facing their doubting glares. Of course he hadn’t betrayed their friends!

 _Friends_. All his self-pity and doubt, yet still he thought of them as friends. After all they had been through together, he would never have a bold, defining moment to prove his loyalty— not with them. Not with James and Lily. A howl ripped through him and he felt his hope escaping into the night.

###  **Halloween 1982:**

Sirius Black woke to the sound of his own screams tearing at his eardrums. It’d been one year since he lost his best mates, and he’d lain withering away in Azkaban, haunted by the soul-voiding demons that cursed the halls ever since. He had no joy to feed them today. No joy to feed them for a long while, really, and even less joy since the full moon at the beginning of October.

The night of the full moon, and every night since, he was tormented by nightmares of Remus transforming, and brutally murdering the Potters. Then the dream shifted to Remus tearing Sirius apart in a fit of rage. It morphed again, within Sirius’ mind, to Remus in werewolf form and Sirius covered in his own blood with his entrails spilling out, chasing after Pettigrew together, united in their hate. When they caught him, they began beating him, and when he was just a breath away from death the dream changed again, and Harry’s broken toddler body lay on the ground beneath the marauders’ vengeful gaze. Remus howled and Sirius felt all the blood rush from his wounds and cover the ground beneath his feet in a slick spill of death. He screamed as he fell atop Harry’s broken body.

There was no hope.

Pettigrew betrayed them all, and Sirius, who knew far too much, was useless behind the walls of Azkaban. He recalled feeling distant from Remus in the months leading up to the murder of his friends. Now, in his early moments of wakefulness, he could not clearly remember what caused the rift. He doubted he could properly recall anything after being tormented for so long. He also knew it would only get worse. His mind was spinning. Images from his dream of broken Harry, sprawled on the ground before him, mixed with the memory of Godric’s Hollow in ruins—the taste of the bile that rose in his throat was almost a comfort. It reminded him that, though his friends were dead, _he_ knew the truth, he tasted it every waking moment; Pettigrew was a snake, a rat, and if he wasn’t already dead, Sirius would make sure that he payed for what he did.

Sirius’ mind wandered to Harry. Where was he? As Harry’s proper guardian it was painful knowing that he was, again, failing James and Lily. He should be caring for the boy. Who was caring for him? Surely, Dumbledore or someone else in the Order had stepped up to ensure that Harry was in good, kind, caring hands. Sirius accessed his last memory of Harry, napping in his father’s arms, a tiny replica of James. He almost smiled. He couldn’t tell if he felt foreboding due to his location, surrounded by dementors, or if he somehow sensed that Harry was not being cared for properly at all. All reason to smile vanished. He had to know if Harry was alright. It was the only way he could fulfill his role as godfather, given the circumstances. He had to be sure that he kept his promise to James and Lily to protect Harry, no matter the cost.

With determination and renewed rage, he sat up in his cell, and clawed at the stone floor until his fingers bled. Consciously, he knew digging would do no good here, but the physical effort of trying something, no matter how fruitless, renewed something in his soul. He would escape this. He would do it for Lily. He would do it for James. He would do it for the godson he would never get to raise. Somehow, he would.

###  **Halloween 1991:**

Severus’ cloak billowed behind him as he rushed to the third floor. In moments such as this, he felt the hopeless irony that is being the slave of two masters. He was directed by one to thwart the plot of another, all because a lifetime ago he dared to care for Lily. He did not agree with her choices in the slightest… He was not even sure that he liked the person she had become, but she deserved to live a full life. He held a space in his heart for her; a fondness for who she used to be, how she had helped him, and seen him, even for a short time. Her friendship, no matter how time had changed it, still existed in his past, and he could not live with himself if he stood by and watched her son be murdered.

He sprinted up the stairs, his wand in hand, but concealed within his sleeve. He took pause outside the classroom and leaned against the wall, willing his heart to slow, and his breath to deepen. _Lily, I tried. I am trying. I am so tired._ His thoughts spilled forth, uncensored, as if she were living inside his head.

He stood, statuesque against the wall, deepening his concentration. He heard Fluffy stirring within the classroom. An idea, a vision, flashed through his mind. He could end this all now, no matter where Quirrell was. He could end it all and no longer live the torn, broken life he was living. It would be so easy and neither master would assume his guilt or innocence. It would appear to both sides as a simple misstep, unfortunate, unintentional. Was there any hope that anything he could do would actually save Potter at this point? Both Dumbledore and Voldemort had their own plans for the boy, and though Severus knew that both believed strongly in the righteousness of their actions, it was likely the boy himself would do something stupid, in an attempt to thwart the Dark Lord, and end up dead and useless to them all. 

Severus wished he was useless. He wished for release. Not often did he surrender to the fear and the hopelessness that haunted his dreams, but tonight… A decade seemed a century from where he stood. He smiled bitterly, resolved to remove himself from the game, as he opened the door.

At some point, just moments before Fluffy mauled his leg, his resolve faltered. He realized that if Potter or his nitwit friends came to investigate for themselves, and found his mangled body dangling from Fluffy’s jowls, they would assume _he_ was after the stone. His heart seemed to stop cold at that thought. Potter would assume the worst, and no one on earth could contradict the boy’s assumptions. Dumbledore would not reveal the truth. No one existed who was in any position to clear his name. 

 _But why does that matter?_  

Fluffy was moving toward him, teeth bared. Voldemort was rushing to the stone, then Harry. Outwardly, Dumbledore appeared to be rushing toward Harry, but was really reaching for the greater good. Potter, ignorant as he was, was blindly running toward death. For some reason, it all mattered. 

 _What am I doing?_ He could not quit yet. He could not quit _now_ . Tired though he was, he was in a position to change the course of the wizarding world. _Just a little more time_ , he told himself. He would revisit removing himself from the game on a different date. Halloween was too sentimental a time to make such huge decisions.. There were bigger things to handle tonight, and now it was nearly too late.

Severus felt teeth puncture the flesh of his leg, warm blood spilling down his trousers and into his boots. He punched at Fluffy, somehow landing a blow, and in a blink was in the corridor again. He felt his pulse in his leg, throbbing coldly.

Hopeless, though he felt, he limped down the stairs to face whatever fate awaited him. His fight was not yet won. He could not rest until either all hope was gone or the victory was won.

###  **Halloween 1997:**

Remus’ eyes closed as he allowed his emotions from the day wash over him completely. He was utterly exhausted, still fully clothed, and felt as if he were helpless to do anything of importance. He could hear Dora shifting around in the tub in the next room. He was stretched across the bed, fully clothed, and heavy with emotion. It had been sixteen years since his friends were murdered by Voldemort, and their son was Merlin knows where, looking for pieces of the Dark Lord’s soul. Worry tore at him from all sides.

 _What were you thinking letting Harry and his friends go off like that? You probably weren’t thinking… just like you weren’t thinking when you married_ _and_ _impregnated Dora. Now you’ve really buggered it all. You’ve sent your friends’ child into certain peril, and you’ve damned your wife to a life of isolation… and who knows what curse your unborn child carries._

A tear slid down his cheek and into the pillow. He hurt deeply, but instead of for himself, he hurt for those he loved. For in loving them, he felt he had failed to protect them the most.

Dora planted a kiss on his tear-dampened cheek and he opened his eyes to see her face tilted in curiosity, and smiling softly above him.

“Oi, love, it’s a hard day for you, hm?” she whispered as she pulled her bathrobe tighter around her pregnant body. Her hair was wrapped up in a scarf atop her head. She glowed with life; so vibrant and lovely that it hurt his heart.

Remus just stared at her mutely and nodded. He let out a sigh and opened his mouth to speak, then decided against it. He closed his eyes tightly and willed the tears to stop. After a moment he opened his eyes to see Dora’s face split into a small, sad smile. She tilted her head, letting her robe fall open as she began to climb up onto the bed.  
  
“Remus, love, let me in…”

He moved away from her, intending to make room on the bed, but she pushed a hand onto his chest, anchoring him in place. His eyes opened in protest, but she spoke before he could say anything.

“I mean,” she paused, “let me in here…” her hand stayed planted on his chest. Her fingers began unhooking the buttons of his shirt. He closed his eyes and focused all of his attention on the sensations caused by the work of his lovely bride’s hands. He felt her straddle him, and a wave of pleasure radiated from his groin.

“I’m not _trying_ to shut you out, exactly…” he whispered, “I just— I feel so... “ his pause grew into a deep, sad silence.

“Hopeless?” she tried.

Nodding, he released the breath he didn’t know he’d been holding. He felt deeply hopeless to change, fix, or do _anything_ of importance. He felt incredibly and overwhelmingly stuck. “I feel like so much of what has happened could’ve been avoided if I’d made better choices. If I would have been… I don't know, more courageous or assertive.”

“I see,” she said. “I think that your feelings are valid, but that doesn’t mean they’re realistic.” She lay atop him so their faces were only centimeters apart. “I see so much hope, Remus, for Harry, for us, for the whole of the wizarding world, that I cannot allow you to blame yourself for ruining things that have yet to be ruined. Because I can tell that’s exactly what you’re doing.” 

“Dora, I am not—”

“Ah. Let me stop you there. You’re _supposed_ to feel sad, to grieve, to mourn your friends. That’s to be expected, it’s healthy even. But lying about feeling like you’re to blame for the devastation? That you, Remus Lupin, have brought about the end of all things good and worth hoping for?” Her face was serious at first, but then he saw a sparkle of humor grow in her eyes, “Now, I do realize you’re a _very_ powerful wizard,” her voice became sultry, “It is, after all, the only reason I married you. It’s only a matter of time before you cause the world to crumble by _sheer_ power of force…” her hands found the buttons on his trousers and she lazily worked them while she finished her lecture, “so once something you _intentionally do_ causes the world to end, then I will allow you to have a pity party on our bed. But until that day, our bed is for sleeping and for sex. I suppose you can decide which you’ll be having tonight.”

 Her hands moved to either side of him as she began to dismount and give him space to decide, but before she could even move completely from his body, he buried his hands beneath her robe and grasped her hips tightly to anchor her in place.

“Why are you always right?” He found it easier to admit that she was right and enjoy her fiery company, than to try to argue with her for the simple reason that she _was_ right. He wasn’t so prideful that he couldn’t see it.

Her lips landed on his, hungrily, and he instinctively opened his mouth to taste her. His hands found the nape of her neck and his tongue caressed hers; so much heat. It shocked him every time they kissed, he could _feel_ and _taste_ her love for him. It was as if her love had a molecular makeup, it existed in the universe—it was not mere feeling or emotion. Their love had substance, and though he sometimes doubted he made the right choice for her safety and overall well-being, he never doubted that their love was real and true.

He threw off her robe and pulled the scarf from her head, releasing a tangle of wavy deep purple locks, as his tongue danced around inside her mouth. She moaned and rolled off his body, pulling him atop her. He moved to kiss her cheek and her ear as she tore at his shirt and discarded it—his trousers and boxers were wandlessly vanished before his lips had made it to her collarbone.

Dora threw back her head and arched her chest up to him in a beautiful feast of breasts and stuttering heartbeat. He nipped at her breasts and drew lines across her nipples with his warm tongue. He saw chill bumps spread over her skin and he could smell the wetness of her arousal as it filled the air. He whispered her name as he moved down to kiss her belly-button, still surprised by the small bump that was growing there, before continuing lower to his prize.

He wrapped his arms around her thighs and held them apart so he could view her beautiful sex open and unobstructed. Her layers fanned out and dripped with sweet smelling nectar, begging to be tasted. He whispered a hot breath over her opening and she arched with pleasure, “Remus!” she pleaded. He felt her hands find the back of his head and pull him toward her. He made her wait a moment longer while he licked his lips and traced her outer layers with the tip of his tongue. He could stand it no longer, and he sealed his lips over her opening, thrusting his tongue as deep as he could into her silken folds. His tongue made quick work of the most sensitive parts of her, and soon she was tumbling into orgasm, muscles spasming and her breath coming in heaves and gasps. He smiled up from between her thighs as she peered down at him in gratitude.

“I would—” her head rolled to the side and she sucked in a breath, trying to regain her words, “I would like a turn with you…” 

He moved over her so they were face to face, and smirked devilishly, “Are you quite recovered? You seem winded…” 

She slapped him playfully on the bum and motioned for him to rotate. He moved so that his knees were on either side of her head, careful not to get on her hair, and his face was positioned, again, between her smooth, lovely thighs. 

She wasted no time in pulling his arse down so that his cock entered her warm mouth. The pressure was heavenly and the heat… he felt weak from it. As his member found the back of her throat he let out a groan and buried his face into her mound. His tongue lapped her precious, sensitive nub, his lithe fingers found her sopping wet hole and made quick, deep thrusts inside. 

He felt her moan when he was deepest inside her which sent vibrations shooting up his cock and deep into his balls and arse. He felt her hands clawing at his arse and back, no doubt making marks of passion across his flesh. He thrust his cock three more times before she came undone again around his fingers. Her body spasmed, grasping at his fingers with pleasure. Her sucking became frantic and hard. He wasn’t quite ready for their encounter to be over, so he dismounted and pulled her bottom to the edge of the bed. At first, she protested, apparently sad that his cock was no longer occupying her body, but he did not make her wait long before he thrust his hard member into her soaking pussy. He let out a groan at the tightness and wetness of his bride, then grabbed her hips and held her in place as he thrust harder and faster until she came with such force that he feared she would send him out of her body completely. He stayed buried inside her until her waves were lessened and then he lifted her upper body, careful to stay inside her, and wrapped her legs around his waist.

“You’re mine” he whispered huskily as he held her body against his and bit roughly at her neck. He felt her nails digging into his shoulder blades, and her breath was ragged with passion. Taking two steps he anchored her against the wall where he held her wrists above their heads with one hand and her arse with the other. Her eyes sparkled with anticipation as he began thrusting into her full force. She was shouting incoherent words of pleasure and swearing under her breath within moments. Remus felt the pressure building between his legs, his balls tightened close to his body and his cock twitched with anticipation, “Fuu— Yeeeessss.”

He slumped against Dora, pinning her fully to the wall. She bit at his neck and licked his earlobe.

“Good choice,” she teased.

He nodded, mutely, still recovering from the intensity of their lovemaking. He carefully moved away to give her room to put her feet on the ground. His head rested in the crook of her neck and he felt himself grow heavy with sleep. He smiled contentedly when she poked his ribs.   

“Hey, no napping. Now you get to clean me up, and no cleansing charms!” she grabbed his wrists and pulled him toward the bath. He loved many things about his wife: She was a very _hands_ _on_ woman, she gave him reason to hope, she loved him when he was unlovable, she saw him in his self-pity and refused to let him stay there alone… She was all that was good and lovely.

“What about a werewolf bath? You don’t want me to lick you clean?” he joked. She turned and cocked an eyebrow with a devilish grin spread across her blushing face. He could not live without her. He could face all the Halloweens he would ever live to see, so long as she was there with him. He hoped for many. He kissed her nose and moved to draw them a bath.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Constructive criticism welcome. Positive comments adored. Questions welcome.


End file.
